Bulletproof
by J. P. Tuesday
Summary: -Complete! A Khan woman seeks revenge with the Courier against their would-be murderer. Rated M for excessive language and copious violence in later chapters.
1. Rude Awakenings

_Fuck, it gets cold out here at night._

The woman, clad only in a pair of ripped-up shorts and a dirty tank top, rubbed her arms. She could faintly see her breath in the pitch-black night. She toyed with the knife that was holstered to her side.

_Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night I get to see the bastard bleed. _

She eyed her blade, ran her long fingers over the top of it, and smiled.

_You're mine, baby. Your pretty boy throat is mine. _

She perched herself on a hill overlooking the vast expanse of the Vegas outskirts. Here she could get a fantastic view... of everything. The stars in the sky, unobstructed by clouds. The dangerous road ahead. The next notch on her trusty blade's well-worn handle.

_Spill your blood, like the piggy you are. Here pig pig pig. Soo-ee. _

The next scene she saw unfolded in slow-motion: A lone traveler walking down the road.  
Piggy and the familiar rag-tag crew of his creep up behind the traveler. The bag slapping her thigh as she (the woman assumed the figure was female due to its slender build) walked, gave her away as a courier. The strongest of the group grabbed a shovel and slammed it in the back of the hapless courier's head. The figure fell down unconscious.

_Now you stoop to highway robbery, Benny-boy. And I thought my tribe was desperate for caps. _

Hence why they were here. They were supposed to be paid in advance. They were supposed to be paid in advance to accompany Pig on a mission. After they had gotten paid, they were supposed to lead Pig to his butcher. Her. That was to be the the final act. Not... whatever the fuck was going on down below.

The men used the same shovel they beat the traveler's head in with to dig a patch in the ground. The figure lay slumped, hogtied and gagged. Piggy lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke. It made curlicues and twists as the cigarette burned down. Pig kicked the figure with his highfalutin' fancy-lookin' shoes, footwear that looked too delicate to wear out in the unforgiving Wastes. He took one last long drag of his cigarette before he crushed the butt out with one of those shiny shoes.

"Time to cash out."

_Fucking scumbag. _

Piggy flapped his yap, giving a speech that even no NCR fuckwad senator could touch. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small 9mm handgun.

The woman winced and held her palm to her heart-shaped eyepatch, putting pressure on the empty socket. She seethed as the pig in the obnoxious suit pulled the trigger, and fell down to her knees as she heard the blowback. Her other hand clutched her head, her fingernails digging into her scalp. The phantom pains were too intense this time.

_You're gonna get yours in spades. No one messes with Memphis O'Malley. _

Alrighty. This is my first fanfiction in seven (!) years. Soooo... I may be a tad bit rusty. Lemme know what you think (but don't be too-too rough).


	2. Hello, Goodsprings

A couple of days passed since the fateful encounter with the man in the black-and-white checkered suit, the one named Benny, the one she would rather call "Pig", or "Piggy", or just simply, "bastard." Sometimes it was a "fuckface", depending on how bitter she was feeling that particular day. One thing was on her mind, though, and that was revenge.

Memphis decided to stick around in Goodsprings for a couple of days. To think about things. To regroup. To once again chase down _that shitheel. _She took one last long swig of the mug of beer that was sitting in front of her weary, tired face. Ever since she witnessed another one pushing daisies as a result of the one she hunted, she could barely sleep. Normally such run-ins would not bother her... if it was anyone else doing the shooting and killing.

_You're a Khan, dammit, you're supposed to be stronger than this!_

Her empty mug joined about five or six others on the bar. It used to be chems that she used to try and chase the demons away. The underside of her arms showed a history with Psycho. It just made her tweaky and jumpy, so she turned to alcohol to settle her nerves. Didn't matter what kind, really. She preferred a cold glass of beer, but whiskey or vodka would do in a heartbeat. Besides, when she drank, the phantom pains behind her absent eye would disappear... or at least, she didn't notice as much.

The barkeep, Trudy, shot a concerned look towards Memphis.

"Things don't look like they're alright for you."

Memphis sighed deep. "Ma'am, you're sure as hell right they ain't."

"Hard times?"

"I guess you could say that."

Memphis requested yet another beer. Trudy didn't mind the woman staying at the bar all day - she was a paying customer, after all, and more polite than most.

"So what's your story? You look like you've seen a lot."

The Khan woman proceeded to spill her guts out to the elderly bartender. Pathetic and cliche, but she thought it may be therapeutic. Maybe. Perhaps she wouldn't remember a thing after her drinking binge.

* * *

"Whoa, easy there. You've been out cold for a couple of days now."

The young courier instantly felt nauseous. The room was spinning around her, in carousel motion. Nothing was distinctive, only a series of coloured blurs. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her throat quivered. She clutched her stomach and let out whatever little content was left in there in spasms.

She heaved, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I... I have never felt this shi... shitty... in my entire life." The girl let out a series of wounded yelps and cries. "My head hurts... hurts like hell. What... what happened to me?" She let her fingers graze her forehead, where she felt a thick wrapping of gauze and tape. They moved down to the middle, in between her large brown eyes. It wasn't as soft as the sides, as it was encrusted with her dried blood.

"You'd been shot, m'dear. For a while, I didn't think you'd make it."

Flashes of that night came to her. The night she had been forced to the ground, tied up... but couldn't remember much else without her head stinging fiercely.

"Did you see who attacked me?"

"'Fraid I didn't. You might want to ask Victor. He's the one who brought you in. Some of the other townfolk might also have seen something." The doctor scratched his head. "I'm Doc Mitchell, by the way."

The girl managed a half-smile before dry heaving. After she could manage to prop her head up from in between her knees, she blinked and smiled. "Thank you. You're a life-saver. "

After a few hours of struggling with getting out of bed, she managed to stand up with the assistance of the headboard. She then noticed she was stripped down to her undergarments.

The girl motioned to Doc Mitchell. "My clothes...?"

Doc Mitchell shook his head. "Completely soaked in blood. Unwearable at this point. However, I don't plan on you walking out here in your skivvies. Townsfolk might not appreciate the lack of modesty."

He walked into another room and dug through a trunk for a couple of minutes, before pulling out a navy blue jumpsuit.

"Was my wife's. We used to live in one of them Vaults. After we settled here, she didn't wear it much anymore. Felt it was too brazen."

The young courier shrugged her shoulders. "Better'n nothing." She then let out an exasperated sigh. "Might get... hoots and hollers if I go out like this. Well, if I didn't look like one of those mummies, anyway."

She slipped on the jumpsuit, and examined both her sides. Hey, a decent fit.

"Not too shabby." She began moving at a quick pace across the room... well, quick for someone who had just been recently shot in the head.

"Hey, hey! This ain't a race, take it easy! Best for you that way. Don't want you ripping open your wounds."

She halted in place when she felt the stabbing pain of her head wound. She grit her teeth, and placed her hand above it for a couple of minutes until the pain somewhat subsided. "Yeah. I... I don't think I want to do that."


	3. A Likely Comraderie

The sun was beginning to set, and Memphis stared at what little natural light was leaking into the saloon. It glistened off her near-empty beer mug, colors broken up into fragments as they twisted off the geometric crafting of it. Purple, pink, orange, shades of the sunset.

A sound that hadn't been heard in hours rang through her ears - the sound of the wooden double-doors clacking against each other as they were opened and shut. A figure was shadowed, a dog barked.

The shadow was uncloaked as she walked into the fading light. A look of surprise crept up the hardened woman's face once she realized who had walked in through those double-doors. The wrap around her head gave her away."Mother... fucker." exited Memphis's lips in a whisper. "No fucking way." She swirled the backwash around in the glass as the tall girl made conversation with the young, perky scout in the front of the bar.

The tall girl walked over to introduce herself to the barkeep, who quipped, "So you're the one who's been causing a stir 'round here." Memphis waved a hand and introduced herself as well.

"I'm Victoria. Tory for short."

_So Piggy's victim isn't nameless after all. _

"I have a question to ask you, Memphis. Maybe you'd know... though I doubt it, seeing as how no one else but the strange robot out there knows what I'm talking about." Tory sighed. "Have you possibly seen some guy in a checkered coat? I think that's the guy who put this here." Her eyes looked up towards the wound in her forehead.

Memphis turned a half-smirk, "That's the guy who put _this_ here," pointing to her distinct eyepatch.

Tory fidgeted with her own fingers. "I was just out doing my job, making a delivery, and... well... I end up here, like this, barely able to remember a damn thing."

"I've got another job for you." She whipped the knife out of its sheath and slammed the tip of the blade into the well-worn, nicked bartop. "Kill Benny. Together." Her words intensified and the tone of her voice lowered. "I want to show that fucking pig how to squeal," drawing out the last word dramatically.

Trudy whipped around once she heard it plunging into the aged wood. "Hey! Memphis, I think you've had just a bit too much to drink!"

Tory nodded. "I want answers from him."

Memphis snarled, " I want to see him _dead._"

"I get my end, you get your end." The two women shook hands firmly. "Team effort."

* * *

Short chapter, yes. But we'll be getting to the juicy, bloody stuff soon enough :)


	4. Meetin' and Greetin'

**A/N: Oh, my, that took a while. I ended up working on Chapters 4, 5, and 6 simultaneously. These chapters are significantly longer than the previous three (kind of ashamed at how short the previous three were, haha). As always, please read and review! **

* * *

The sun rose on the Mojave, and the newest partnership in the land made preparations to move on to bigger and better opportunities. Necessities were packed to capacity in Tory's messenger bag. The two bid their farewells and thanks to the tiny outpost that got them back on their feet in more ways than one. They were ready to take their challenge head-on, full speed ahead. Dirty shoes met dusty dirt as the two turned north and west.

"We're heading home. "

"Home?"

"Red Rock Canyon. That's home."

Tory tugged on her jumpsuit, extending her collar out with her fingers. The sun reflected off the dark color of it, trapping heat within. "It's hot even in the morning."

"Wouldn't be my outfit of choice."

For hours they toiled, hiking through twists and turns off the main road. Secrets, Memphis claimed. Khan secrets. The route they took, she elaborated, was the best way to avoid nasty critters who might want to make you the breakfast of champions. Too often, she saw unfortunate travelers half-devoured on the side of the road swarmed by Cazadores, bones jutting through rotten, chewed-up flesh. Nasty things, they were. No encounters are great encounters – it means you get from Point A to Point B relatively intact.

* * *

Red Rock Canyon was an apt and straightforward name to call it. Its impressive cliffs and plateaus shone a striking orange-red hue, an environment that differed from the plain, sandy, and dry desert flatlands to the east. A land of outcasts and misfit raiders, they developed a strong yet hindered identity in the region. However, this wasn't their first home. Banished by the commanding presence of the New California Republic to the western reaches of the Mojave by violent means, they stood biding their time, staying bitter, and developing new strategies to extend their influence and become unbroken.

The first thing Memphis did when she arrived was to make a beeline to her tent that she shared with two others in her tribe. Rummaging through her belongings, she pulled out an outfit and tossed it Tory's way. "I think you'll find this a bit better than that stuffy Vault jumpsuit." A pair of short, frayed denim shorts and a tight, white tank-top now hugged the courier's slim frame. Her hipbones jutted out from the waistband and the shirt showed off her toned midsection.

Memphis gave her salutations to various people in her tribe, and stopped when she saw the group that Benny hired to do his dirty work. Its leader, a man named Jessup, had a deep scowl on his face. His red hair, styled into a Mohawk, wavered none in the wind. Despite his rough, ragged appearance, he seemed to have an affinity for heavy-duty styling products. His exposed arms were sunburnt an unpleasant, raw shade of pink from walking countless hours across the Mojave.

The petite Khan stomped over to him and pointed a finger centimeters from his eyes. "You. You were supposed to hand him over to me." Memphis growled.

"That… that girl. That's the one Benny knocked off! N… no fucking way." His mouth was agape, a look of surprise replaced the irritated emotion he once displayed.

"If I can rise from the dead, so can she. So. Why did you not deliver him? You reneged."

"The fucker refused to pay us until we got to Boulder City, then ran out on his bill like a fucking cheapskate. Then he stranded us in the middle of fucking NCR territory, the fucking prick. We had to fight our way out of there tooth and nail."

"Shithead." Memphis spat.

Jessup immediately got defensive. "Are you talking to me?"

"Fuck no. I was talking about that fucking checkerboarded shitheel you so harebrainedly decided to assist." Memphis shifted her hands to the sides of her hips. "Well, you got what was coming to you. Don't say I didn't warn you that he was a fucking pig."

"Yeah, yeah. Joke's on us. Fuuuuuunny."

"It is. Except that I don't have his head on a fucking stake. I guess if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. But this time, I have a friend! Two for the price of one dead body!"

Tory chuckled and flashed a full smile. "Man, he's really gonna rue the day, huh?"

"You're damn straight."

Jessup interjected himself into the women's conversation. "And yeah, I know I've got a fair share of pride. But I'd like to apologize to your friend, here." Shame filled his voice, one that was usually reserved for one of two tones: proud and pissed-off. He extended his right hand. The courier took a hold of it and shook firmly.

"Accepted."

He pressed a shiny, metal object into it. "You might want this as a souvenir. It's fuckstick's lighter. Shove it up his ass when you find him."

It was still rather warm to the touch. Tory wrapped her fingers around it and ran them over the lettering engraved in its material, his initials in script lettering. "Cute. Just in case he forgets himself when he lights one, huh?" She flipped the lighter to Memphis. "I don't think I'm going to get much use out of this. You better hold on to it."

"He shouldn't leave his toys out where others can play with them. 'Specially if he doesn't want to share." Ceremoniously, the first cigarette using Benny's lighter was lit as she held the flame to the stick for a couple of seconds and took a deep drag. A plume of smoke exited her lips slowly as she savored the dry heat and flavor of the tobacco. Angling her head towards the moon and stars, she blew upwards and laughed. "Mine now."

A voice from the background piped up, "Fuck Benny. He's gonna get what's coming to him." The rally cry incited cheers from the surrounding Khans. Memphis pumped her fist in the air.

"Damn straight he is. I sure as hell plan on it. _We_ sure as hell plan on it. Right?"

Tory hummed an agreement. She stared out into the sunset, vivid shades of pink and orange blending together into a background of purple and indigo. With each passing moment, the bright shades became dimmer and the darker colors more pronounced until the sun dropped completely from the horizon. Patting her newly acquired shorts that hung loosely on her hips, she contemplated her future. But how can you have a future without a discernable past? The memories before her scrape with death were vague and far between. She had no land to call her own; that wasn't present in those fragments. No family, no friends save for the sun-bleached blonde that was chatting with the group of rough-looking men that stood ten feet away. She was an open book with blank pages that needed to be filled in, a unique tale with an absent backstory. Chapter One: Getting Down To Business. The other details could be added later.

Memphis separated herself from the group and was once more at Tory's side. She pulled a worn, crumpled sheet of paper that had been folded many times over out of her pocket. The flame flickered from Memphis's newly acquired lighter and reflected off of it, making the lettering written in thick, bold, red ink in capital letters visible -

_MEMPHIS'S LIST OF THINGS TO DO. _

_KILL BENNY. _

_ACHIEVE HAPPINESS. _

The ink bled from the final letters of each line and created streaks in the paper.

"My goals. Not like I'll forget, but I love to have something I can touch."

The first line was obvious. The second line was a bit vaguer. "Achieve happiness?"

"Yeah." Memphis lit another cigarette. If there was one thing the Khan was good at, besides revenge plans and finding creative ways to use profanities, it was chain-smoking. "I think it's something that everyone desires. Happiness. So elusive. 'Specially out here." Quick, shallow drags were followed by others. "Maybe I can find it. This may be a start."

"I don't remember much of that." Tory sadly sighed. "I don't remember much of anything to be honest." She placed her hands in her front pockets and gazed at the sienna-coloured ground. "All I remember is glimpses, then present forward, and when I got shot."

* * *

The images funneled into her memories, one by one, like photographs being shuffled in a row. Blurs of light. Her hands, bound with thick, coarse rope that dug and scratched into the thin flesh of her wrists. Her mouth, gagged with a filthy cloth that tasted of absinthe and sweat. The Pig in full form, dressed to the nines, smoking a cigarette that smelled different than the ones she had whiffed off of Memphis's vicinity. It had to be a different, obscure brand – one that wasn't easily obtained by commoners such as everyone else. Most everyone had ones that were encased in a red cardstock box. Benny, on the other hand, had ones that were housed in blue. She saw the box as he whipped it out of his front pocket and used that very same lighter that Memphis now held in her scarred, dirty hands. His dark eyes were lit by the fire that flickered over them as he lit the cigarette, the last butt he would leave beside her intended grave. He sucked it down like water. Then he mouthed the same words that the Khan woman would hear from a distance. His voice carried far in stark, nighttime silence. Perhaps one of his drawbacks.

"Time to cash out." Words were as smooth as butter leaving his voice box, not once did he stutter or become jarred. Pre-planned, meditated. His lines were almost rehearsed. He'd make a great actor. But was he putting on an act, or was he just that good of a manipulator?

"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene." _Then why did you try to kill me? _ _You're sorry, right? Brahmin shit. Like sorry you are. _

He aimed his shiny pistol in the middle of her head. It gleamed more than most guns – fully polished, adorned with some religious symbol on the handle. At least she figured. She looked serene, blessed. He hands clasped over the idol and aimed in her direction. He pulled the trigger. The bullet moved in slow-motion before it struck her between the eyes. Then, silence.

"What are you waiting for?", were the last words she heard before she went unconscious. She felt the  
Pig's warm hands caress her chest, looking for the object he lusted for. This time, he wasn't looking for sex. He was lusting for power. The package she was delivering held an immense amount of that, though she didn't know that. It was just a job, after all. She didn't know all of the ins and outs of everything she was assigned.

* * *

A piece of paper and a destination, that was it. Then the bullet seared through her head. She couldn't remember anything until the weird cowboy robot scooped her out of her final resting spot and delivered her to the talented town doctor. He spoke in a Southern drawl, that's all she could discern. She thought it was from Vegas; he wouldn't speak in a strange dialect that few would hear in their lifetime around here, right? His imagery looked classy, a by-product of another era; a cowpoke with a bandana around his neck, cigarette dangling from his lips, a sweet Southern dialect that was foreign to the surrounding area.

Tory's daydreams gave way to dreams within them. Thoughts blurred together, mental pictures conjoined and created two-headed monsters and multi-limbed abominations. Pain radiated through her head, with her sewn-up wound as the epicenter. Her nails dug into her bloodied gauze halo and she roughly cried out.

"Yeah. Your wound's still fresh, but that might be something that you have to get used to." She dug through her belongings in her satchel and pulled out various medical supplies, including a relatively intact roll of gauze. Immediately she went to work peeling off the courier's old trappings and then brandished a half-full bottle of whiskey. "Mmmm. This might sting."

And indeed it did. Memphis pressed the soaked cloth to the stitched wound, removing traces of dried, caked blood and plasma around it. Tory screeched and took shallow breaths. "Worst part's over. Wouldn't want that shit to get infected, gotta keep it clean." Her hands expertly worked the long strip of gauze around and under the courier's long, dark hair. Taped into place at the base of her crown, the procedure was complete.

Memphis placed her index finger beside her heart-shaped eyepatch. "Yeah. Two years later, and I still get pangs of pain right here."

The full moon hung in the air like a shiny bauble. The encampment of rogues was turning in for the night, crashing on simple bedrolls. The duo pulled out theirs and laid down, taking in the calm beauty of the mild, breezy night.

Tory slowly sat down on the mat and hugged her knees. "I'm curious. You know my story. What's yours?"

"Couple of years ago, I was a scout and chem-runner. Big money was going to come our way once the Pig came strolling in, had an invoice for a shit-ton of Psycho. Odd, though, man didn't look like the type to get high. Clean-cut, had some fuckin' ridiculous-looking suit, talked all funny and shit." She shifted her position on the bedroll, lying on her back to look at the stars in the clear night sky. "Though I know junkies come in all shapes and sizes, hell I was one once."

"So… you were like a courier."

"Of sorts." Memphis outstretched her marked arms, half with tattoos, half with scars of previous dances with chems. "So I go to deliver the goods. Fucking asshole has two other goons with him. I ask for my payment, and the two toadies grab me by the arms. I struggled to get free, but two big dudes clearly overpowered little me. He laughs, laughs! He throws me a terrible lie, an insincere smug fucking apology before he shoots me in the face. Was left for dead out in the middle of the fucking Mojave, a carcass for the fucking birds and mole rats to pick over."

The ambiance of déjà vu washed over the courier, unable to speak. It wasn't the first time the pig in the suit had done this, and her run-in wouldn't be the last if they didn't take action. She stammered and dragged her nails in the dirt, trying to think of a reply. The only thing that surfaced was a burning, passionate hatred. Her blood boiled and she dug in further, caking in dirt in between her short fingernails.

"Crawled on hands and knees for a few hours. Trying to stay conscious, trying to stay alive. I knew if I passed out, that was gonna be the end of me. Eventually a traveling doctor found me crawling along Highway 95. If it weren't for that saint, I don't think I'd be here right now."

"…Shit."

Memphis stared at her distinct tattoos up and down her arms – one set a full tribal sleeve, the other a Great Khans masthead on her bicep. Her fingers moved down to the one on her forearm – a heart with a knife shoved through the center, with ribbon containing a script text circling it. "Never forget. Never will."

"So whatcha gonna do when this is all over?"

Memphis pondered for a moment. "Haven't thought about it yet. Take his jacket, fly it as a flag outside my tent? But I guess I'll try to do the best for myself. Do the best that I can for the Khans. They're my family."

"Yeah. I kinda wish I knew what that was like." Tory sighed and drew circles in the dirt. "Dunno why you all get such a bad rep."

"We do what we have to, to scrape by. It's a dog-eat-dog world out here, and we've gotten the shaft. Shit's tough in the Wastes. Chem-dealing, raiding – doesn't strike the right chord with many people. We'd love to go legit though, but we just don't have the means. Story of the Wastes."

Tory nodded and rolled on to her back. "It can't be worse than most out here."

"No, not really. They all have their own issues. Some choose to embrace them, some choose to look over them, and some choose to pretend like they never even happened." She lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the night. "We can't deny who we are, where we've been, where we came from. Identity. Hard times, tough times, shit times." She snarled the last phrase as she thought of the massacre of her people at Bitter Springs. "Those NCR fuckwits? Choose to ignore it all, choose to ignore their mistakes and traipse along merrily consuming everything and everyone in its path. Democracy? Hah. What a load of shit."

The courier played with her hair nervously as she mentally connected the dots in the sky. "I… I'm sorry if I brought up something bad."

"Ah, don't worry about it."

Uncomfortable silence overfell the area until Tory broke it. "So, how do we find him? It's a wide world out there."

"I know where he is. Dead giveaway he's a Vegas man. Don't think there's anyone in the Wastes who'd have a fucking getup like that and not be in some hoity-toity place. Jessup said the Pig works at the Tops, some kind of fucking manager or something." _What a fucking name. _

"So how are we gonna get in? I've heard rumours of requiring you to be rich. Phhhfft. I think I was supposed to go to Vegas. I think. But I don't think that delivery order is going to do me a damn bit of good now."

"Don't call defeat yet." The blonde waved two documents in the air. "Got your passport right here. A passable fake, it is. They won't know the difference."

A sigh of relief mingled with the courier's breath. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." Memphis curled up on the bedroll and threw a thin, threadbare blanket around her. "It's now or never."


	5. A Will and a Wish List

A/N (4/7/11): I might be changing this and the following chapter around in the next couple of weeks due to flaws I've spotted in them that I'm not quite happy with. So stay tuned, you might see a brand new ending.

* * *

This was his house, his terrain, his territory. The journey to Vegas had been pleasantly uneventful, save for a couple of punks that charged at them with knives in Freeside. Needless to say, they got laid to waste with knives of their own, because no one messes with Memphis O'Malley and Tory Beauregarde and their one outstanding mission. After they left them bleeding out on Fremont, the neon monster stared them in the face, fangs dripping with saliva and venom. It beckoned them with a roar, or literally, the sounds of Big Band. The cacophony of wind instruments certainly could be distorted into a threat if you were on the right combination of chems and alcohol. Anger, in this case, was like being fueled on illicit substances. All they heard was taunts from Sinatra rather than a crooning melody.

They stepped into the mouth of the beast, flanked by two well-groomed men in suits. The greeter ruffled through the bag quickly, looking for contraband. Tory figured that was a fancy, politically correct way to say "bouncer". Well, apparently all they cared about was firearms, because the multiple knives hidden in the bottom of her messenger bag were left untouched.

"Easier. More effective. And best of all, more personal." Memphis pulled out a flask from one of her companion's bag pockets. She took a large swill of the substance, which smelled heavily of strong alcohol. So strong, it could probably get a Deathclaw drunk as hell and leave it stumbling and crying for its mama. "Like I'm going to give these bastards two caps to rub together for booze."

The gorgeous sounds of Dean Martin swirled around the casino. Atmospheric noises of patrons groaning as they lose all their hard-earned caps to the house, Vegas socialites boozing and having a few laughs at said poor schlubs, and conversations from the dapper gentlemen who ran the show intermingled with the saxophones and Martin's smooth-as-butter voice.

"I don't like this place." Tory whispered, a hint of worrisome dread in her voice. She stared out into the nothing, trying to rein in her thoughts that were quickly spiraling out of control. _Kill. Kill. Find the weasel, beat him into submission. String him up by his guts. Kill. _"It's so… I don't know. I just don't know." _Make him see his sad life before his eyes as he fades in and out and in and out and maim and kill and butcher. _

Memphis sampled another sip of the contents of her weathered flask. "I'm going to need all of this that I can." Her thoughts were racing in rapid motion, paralleling the courier's own thought patterns. She was visibly on edge – she stood more rigid than usual, taller than usual, more wary than usual. Her eye's pupil flitted back and forth, scoping out any dangers that may be nearby, especially The Pig. Despite the bright lights and flashy panache of the Tops, it was the darkest place she had ever been. The Khan lit a cigarette and felt the jolt of nicotine blasting through her bloodstream as she sucked it down. _Just wait 'til I get a hold of you. _

It took all of the duo's will to not lunge forward as soon as they saw the distinctive suit of Piggy. Surrounded by four guys in identical suits, Benny didn't play when it came to security. Tory gripped Memphis's arm and ran towards the ladies' room, afraid of being singled out in a crowd of many. She selected the largest stall, farthest away from the door, and locked themselves in. Her face was washed in panic, with the color faded from her cheeks. Breathing heavily, she spat out as she gripped Memphis's shoulders tightly, "We've got to formulate a plan! Something!"

Memphis kept her cool on the outside. Inside, however, told a different tale. _Wring your neck, watch you choke. I'd love to get my hands on your fucking windpipe. _"Yeah. Don't think this is gonna be easy. But then again, we're bulletproof, and by the end of today, I want him dead… you want him dead… we want him dead. Fucker's gonna bleed." She made three paces forward, three paces backwards, all the room the stall gave her to move around.

A couple of minutes passed as both women deliberated their strategy. Tory kept shaking off one idea she had, even though she knew it was the most logical choice. The idea made her feel slimy, disgusting, and ill. It was the kind of feeling that needed multiple baths to get rid of. She'd take many irradiated baths in exchange for the purging of the images that filled her brain. Intimacy was as foreign as normalcy, sensuality an escaped notion. But this was business. The business of death.

"I… I think I may have something."

Memphis paused. "Well, let's hear it."

Tory breathed in deep. "This is going to... involve me getting him alone. " She gritted her teeth and her mouth turned downward. "I'm gonna try and… put the moves on him."

"Fucking hell, Tory. It's so repulsive it's brilliant."

* * *

Memphis snaked her way around to the elevators, most which were out of order. She crouched down behind a potted plant, one which obviously was fake and collecting years of dust on its waxy faux-leaves. "If shit goes down, I'll be waiting."

Tory slowly made her way around the corner and down the narrow walkway. Benny was laughing with a couple of the chaps that were in his close proximity. She collected her thoughts as much as she could and wrapped them up in a mental box. A couple of strays fled though, including one that made it difficult to run up to him forcefully and sink the sheathed knife that was hidden between the cups of her brassiere into the meat of his neck. A couple of times interspersed by mere seconds, she had to stop her hands from wandering up her shirt to the weapon. Her heart beat in double-time, time slowed down by half, and the worst aura of unabridged fear surrounded her. With each step, the thoughts beat on her skull harder, faster, stronger. Each one was different, dangerous, deliciously deadly, but all of them came to the same conclusion. _Kill. _

_Ten paces to go. Ten paces to go until I could potentially…_

Benny turned around and saw the most recent ghost of his past boring mental lasers into his head. The expression on his face changed from one of jubilation to the wide-eyed one of being caught red-handed in the cookie jar, crumbs and chocolate all over his sticky fingers. "What in the goddamn…"

The courier thought of a response, and she thought of one quick. She shot him a sultry look, turning up the corners of her mouth. She felt the sweat dripping down her back, and she begged herself, _work dammit work. _" Unnnfff. When you shot me, you ran off so fast I didn't even get your name." Her eyes reflected the opposite of her true intentions.

The Pig cocked his eyebrow upwards. "Are… are you trying to make a pass at me, sister? Because I'm out of your league."

_Shit shit shit. Fuck fuck fuck. _

More internal profanities reared their ugly little heads and her palms were slick with sweat. She wasn't about to give up, however. They had traversed quite the distance to get here, and she was going to be damned if she was going to go away mad and not get a slice of life.

_Second attempt. Here we go. _"Is it wrong to want someone who'd shoot me in the head?" _Godfuckingdammit no way. _She moved closer, arms sweeping around the man in the checkered suit, fingers grazing the textured material. Cursing herself, she wished that the bullet did its job, so that she wouldn't have had to put herself through this degradation. She ran the same line over and over: this isn't real. _This isn't real. _

An eternity within seconds brought forth a reply. "Did that bullet scramble your egg? Or… have you always been a naughty broad?"

_Cocky fuck. _

Tory laid the syrup on thick. "Girls like bad boys. And you've been downright _awful!"_ She combed her fingers through her long chocolate mane, making an exaggerated pouty-face.

The bloke certainly liked hearing himself talk. She figured he was narcissistic enough to yap all day and get a boner from doing so. He laid into his drawl, words rolling off his tongue. "You're one sick pussycat, baby. There's quins and then there's… I don't know what to call you."

_Death. That's what you can call me. _

"I'm saying I dig you, despite it all. What do you say?"

"I hear dig from you, babe, and all I can think about is a shovel." His body started to rebel his dialogue, becoming evident as Tory manipulated her top half to squeeze as much cleavage out of it. "This isn't forgiveness, this is something… wrong."

_You're damn right it's not forgiveness, and you're damn right it's "something else."_

She almost had the nerve to slit his throat then and there and have him bleed out in full view of the multitudes on the Tops' main floor. She could do it. Grab his shoulder with one hand, cut into the jugular with the other. However, she had to keep up the act. _The show must go on. _

She moved her hands downwards, dangerously close to his nether regions. With one hand she squeezed his thigh and the other patted his firm ass. It did look nice in those slacks. Too bad he had to be put down like a rabid dog. Rabid dogs infect others.

Sticky sweet and saccharine, she said, "I'm a courier, remember? Don't you want me to handle your package?" Her hand reached upwards and squeezed his crotch in full view of everyone.

His look of arousal deepened and the color in his face flushed. He slipped a key into the back pocket of her shorts. "All right honey baby, but this is all kinds of wrong." He couldn't fight it anymore. People were starting to stare. He covertly adjusted himself in his pants and whispered in the courier's ear, "Meet me up there in five. Don't keep me waiting."

_And there's the final blow. I win. _But afterwards she wanted to wash her hands in scalding-hot water with harsh surfactants. An oozing, burning rash would have felt more right and sanitary.

She walked in quick, large strides to where Memphis established her post. "Okay. We're in. Follow my lead. Find a place to hide when we get there."

The Khan gripped the handle of the knife that was half-sticking out of her pocket. She ran her fingers over the bumps, dents and ridges of it. "Tonight. Tonight is glory."

Both rode in the same elevator to the thirteenth floor, where the Pig made his bed to lie in. Thirteen. A number synonymous with bad luck. They've had plenty of that. Now it was his turn to experience it numerous times over. A reversal of fortunes, they called it.

_Nothing can stop us now. _

* * *

Primal instincts kicked in, and Tory threw her shirt to the floor. Her bare chest puffed in and out like a pissed-off gorilla. She felt like she had nine-hundred pounds of pure muscle even though her slender frame said otherwise. Her adrenal glands negated whatever fear she had and switched it over to blood-lust. "I'm ready for this."

"I like your moxie!" Memphis squatted behind the side-bar, impressed by her animalistic way of waging war. "But I'll leave my top on."

"Getting started without me, hmm?"

The blonde quickly took her position as Benny strutted in through the imposing double-doors. Concealed by the shadows, she patted her sheathed knife. _Soon, my friend. Very soon. _

Tory stretched out seductively on the couch, faking a coy look. "Oh… I couldn't resist."

He pounced like a tiger on top of her and sucked on her neck, kind of like a vampire. His hands made her way dangerously close to her exposed chest. She gripped them and moved them down to the curves in her defined waist.

"Oh, you do know how to swing!"

She quit her masquerade and roughly growled into his ear, "Yeah? You can swing on _this._"

Memphis yanked hard on his full head of hair, jerking his neck back. He was met with the chilly, vengeful stare of the one with the eyepatch. "Hello, Benny. Long time _no see!" _

All of his demons shared the same room, staring him in the face with great acrimony. All of his past actions have returned to him, the doomed sender that sent bad checks that he couldn't cash anymore. Even in the face of clear and present danger, he maintained the same cocky demeanor that he would display anywhere else.

Benny smirked. The smarmy asshole clearly had something to say. "Apparently, same with your right eye." Out of all the things to mention, this one was the worst.

The blonde cocked back her free fist and slammed it hard into his smug face. "You! Pig!" She yelled. "You fucking coward. You fucking piece of _shit!" _She stuffed both of her fists into his now-mussed hairdo and pulled back, sending him tumbling over the arm of the couch feet-first.

Tory jumped off the couch and shoved him backwards as he was stumbling to regain composure. Memphis took a hold of his wrist and dug her nails into the skin, drawing blood from the indentures. He was left with nowhere to run. The two women had him against the wall. The blonde drew the weapon from her pocket and aimed it towards the hand pressed firmly against the drywall.

The courier grinned, unable to hold back her spite any longer. "And this is your first lesson. Consider it one of many. Hell hath –"

Memphis plunged the blade into his left hand, releasing a deafening, agonizing shriek from the Pig.

" – no fury like a woman."


	6. Ruining the Ruiner

"Your time's running out," Memphis hissed. She watched the blood run down Benny's wrist. "Too bad you can't get away now."

Benny cried out in pain as the sun-bleached blonde Khan twisted the knife further into the wall, further into his hand. The bones snapped like a dinner bird's. The bare-breasted courier smiled.

"Please... please don't let me go out without touching those charlies."

Memphis cackled. "Hand me another one of those." Tory handed her another well-sharpened blade from her pack, reveling in the brutal interrogation. In the past, she wasn't a bloodthirsty animal. But that all changed once she got herself entrenched in the mess she couldn't get herself out of. A mess that was unavoidable, a mess that seemed to be a date with destiny. A date with the unlikeliest of best friends.

"You know, all this violence just... gets me off," Tory drawled out, each word dripping with pure animosity.

Memphis pushed the handle of the knife into her hand. "You do the honors this time."

Tory grinned ear to ear. She brushed her naked torso against Benny before grabbing his other wrist, and thrust the sharp knife into the flesh of his other hand. "Ain't touching nothin', bucko. Ain't it a shame you got yourself into _all this trouble_ for _nothing_." Whatever dark side of Tory hadn't been highlighted before had been marked in full now, with extra neon-yellow marks on the side. In this moment, it had now completely taken over her psyche. She dipped her index finger in the trickling blood and smeared two marks on her full cheeks.

"Ooooh!" Memphis squealed. "I've never seen this side of you! Feisty!" She followed her partner's action, and painted two long stripes on her own face. "War paint."

Benny stammered. He was losing blood fast. The sleeves of his obnoxious coat were dyed red. "Y.. you.. you fu... fucking crazy broads."

Memphis erupted in a sinister laugh. "Ohhhh. You want to see how crazy we can get? Do you _want _to see how fucking_ crazy _we can get?" She then kneed the formerly-smug man in the crotch. "We haven't even _begun!" _

Benny's head jerked down and his teeth nearly bit through his lower lip. "Don't... don't nail a man in the j... junk when he's... he's down, baby..."

Tory rolled her eyes in a seductive fashion and shook her hips. "Yeah, mmm, uh-huh, this gets me so freaking hot right now." She whipped out a third knife from her courier's bag. "Guns... are too merciful."

Memphis chimed in, "Guns are for _smug-ass _fucking pretty-boy fucking _pussies_! Aren't they? They're for _motherfucking pigs_ who run away from their problems!"

Benny cried out as he saw the lights and his face reflect off the metal blade. "No! No no no! I... I'm sorry, baby..."

Memphis sneered, "Not good enough. Should have thought about that when you shot my eye out, you fucking shitstain."

"Just... just... take these knives out of my hands! And I'll do anything, anything you want!"

Tory emitted a low chuckle. "...Anything? Oh, but it's too bad, can't take those out. You'll just bleed out." The dark-haired courier waved the knife two inches from Benny's eyes. "And you're already doing a good job of that." She paced back and forth in front of him. "Oh, what to do next. What to do next. Hmm. _So many options!_"

Benny stuttered once more, "A.. at least I only used one bullet! Fu... fuck."

Memphis backhanded the suave gentleman in the face. Hard. "_You _don't get to tell _us_ how you want to die." She placed her hands in the small pockets of her ripped shorts. "_We_ get to decide that. And we've decided you get an epic ending. The grandest in all of Vegas! No mercy from us." The woman combed her bloodstained fingers through her blonde hair. "Hmm. Wonder if blood can dye hair. I'd always fancied myself a redhead."

"You'd look fab, Mem. Give it a shot!"

The Khan woman nearly fell down in laughter, clutching her ribs. "Haha! Give it a shot! Cha-pow! Get it! Get ittttt! Haha!"

The young courier had finally made a consensus on her next action she was going to take. She sauntered over to Benny, most casually, and began to undo his belt.

"Ba... baby? One last favor for me, hey? I knew you couldn't resist."

"Haha! A favor, you say? Oh, _hardly_."

Memphis toyed around with the idea of using various implements around the room. She spied a pool cue resting in the corner, behind the door. "Aha! Perrrrrfect." She fished a pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket and lit one of the sticks up, dangling in her mouth like a lure. Her right hand gripped the pool cue, her left hand drew the stick away from her mouth after she took a long drag. She blew the large cloud of smoke in Benny's face. He squinted and weakly coughed as it hit his eyes. The Khan woman tinkered with the lighter in her pocket - a most distinct lighter. Her least-dominant hand flipped the lid up and down several times, taking a gander at the flame rising and falling.

"Oh, hey. By the way, I think this is yours. Jessup told me to shove this up your ass when I found you. However, I've taken quite a liking to it, so I'll shove this up your ass instead."

Benny's eyes grew wide as Memphis squatted down on the balls of her feet and rammed the three-foot-long implement upwards a third of its length. He emitted the loud-pitched hurt squeal the woman wanted to hear from the get-go. A Cheshire Cat grin plastered her face. _We're all mad here. _

While Memphis had turned her attention to Benny's rear end, Tory had turned hers toward the front. She looked him up and down several times as she twirled the handle of the knife in her right hand. Her eyes fixated on his midsection, then moved downwards in the direction of his manhood. His breathing grew rapid as the dark-haired courier inched closer and closer. A sudden movement later, and the buttons were undone on his blazer. Tory reached upwards on the collar and roughly slid the garment down his arms, stopping at his bloody, pinned hands. She flipped the knife in her hands both directions, presumably to examine its sharpness or take a blurry look at her scarred face. Tory gripped his dress shirt as she drove the blade through and down it, cutting it like a soft food. The garment was ripped away, exposing his bare chest. The hapless Chairman cried out as the courier made one long, thin cut down the length of his torso using only the tip. Red fluid met supple flesh. Droplets escaped from the cut and dribbled down his waist to his stomach to the top of his legs.

All Memphis could hear now was Benny's screams and the sounds of her heart quickly thumping, courtesy of the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Then one thought came to her brain, and it repeated itself over and over again: _pig pig pig. Piggy pig pig. Pig pig soo-ee pig pig. I've got you now. _She locked her remaining eye with those of the scared swine in front of her. Memphis adjusted her eyepatch and shifted it to the side. She pressed her face to Benny's, allowing him to take an up-and-close look at the hollow socket.

"You see this?"

Benny grimaced, trying to work through the multiple factors of pain. His vision grew blurry as Memphis shoved the hole in her head right next to his left eye. He felt the emptiness inside it as he blinked, and he could feel her warm, liquor-bated breath as she yelled another taunt.

"_You see this!_ This! This is what you _did to me_!" She felt warmness sting her eye for a moment. The woman pursed her shaking lips together and shook the feeling aside.

_Khans don't cry. _

Putting her heart eyepatch back in place, Memphis took out her pure hatred on the Chairmen leader's face using nothing but her bare fists. One blow. Two, three, four. White-knuckled and red-fisted, she threw hearty, meaty blows on the boniest bits of his skull. She paid special attention to the area around his eyes. Every time she landed a punch, Benny emitted a winded screech.

"Ju...ju... just kill me already..."

Those words fell on deaf ears as the dynamic duo were too busy listening to their hate-fueled ambitions. Tory marveled at her blood-covered knife, preparing it once more. She carried plenty of awful, terrible ideas to implement with the tool, but one stood out in particular. She conferred with her partner-in-crime, who thought it was bloody brilliant. A fitting nickname, the one they called him. The nickname he should forever wear on his stomach. The courier dug the knife into his flesh, drawing another straight line downwards. Then a curved one bled into the right of it. Another parallel line. Two curves facing away from each other and a straight line down. PIG.

His vocalizations could wake the long-deceased from their eternal slumber. However, there were no cemeteries or people for a distance, so they could only be heard by the two women who bore down on him. Those screams echoed for seconds after they originated and lingered on the walls, the ceiling, and everything else they touched. Memphis and Tory drank it in like the finest of wines.

"Oh, baby, whassa matta? Didn't think you were gonna get caught?" Memphis sardonically cooed. "Ain't that rule number one?" Another lit cigarette was perched between her lean, calloused fingers. "But here's what you should have done in the first place – fucked off." She crushed the cherry into Benny's inner thigh and then relit the stick, repeating the process until the cigarette was burnt down to the filter. "And why am I wasting my smokes on the likes of you? Should have used the lighter straight-up."

Out it came, like the subsequent cries. The Khan flicked the lighter, releasing a flame about three-fourths of an inch high. It caressed the skin of his thighs, leaving burn marks in its wake. Tory cheered her on. "Go higher!" she dared her companion, with as much energy in her voice as a child's being pushed in a swingset.

"Your wish, my command, my friend." And higher it went, singeing the most tender of bodily parts.

"No, no, no!" he cried out, tossing his head about from side to side in agony.

"Oh, but yes, yes, yes!" Tory replied. "Besides, it's not like you're gonna be using your pecker for anything else ever again."

Memphis continued her fiery assault on Benny's not-so-private-parts-anymore, pausing once to light a cigarette for its intended purpose. This. This had to be the ultimate form of degradation for a man, and the two ate it up. This was their craft, their doing, their sinister ideas being put into practice on someone who outright deserved them in full.

He looked hardly recognizable as his former self. His lungs had given out and all he was reduced to was whimpers. Blood was still flowing from the multiple lacerations and punctures on his body, especially from the three poignant letters engraved in the injured flesh of his gut. The sleeves were soaked and stained with the colour of deep vermillion and violation.

"Finish… finish me." His mouth hung open and he scratchily whispered, unable to speak much more.

"I think we're done here."

Tory gave the battered, nearly dead Chairman a light, taboo kiss on the lips before sinking her knife into his heart. His eyes rolled in the back of his head before they became cold, dead and staring right at the courier.

All those lost memories flooded the courier's brain as she jolted back to reality. Her persona integrated back into her physical self. The head-rush was overwhelming, replacing the empty yet weighty anger that catapulted her desire for the stench of death to fill the air. Her past, her present, and a glimpse into the future flashed before her eyes as she tried to lift her heavy, tingling limbs. She looked backwards at Benny's mutilated, lifeless, blood-soaked body with panicky, morbid wonder. All she could do was collapse into Memphis's tattooed arms and hysterically cry, her breath hitching as she buried her sweaty, tear-drenched face into her dirty, crimson-flecked shirt.

"It's over. I remember everything."


End file.
